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"Place it on the table," says Mona, who, though rich in presence of mind, has yet all a woman's wholesome horror of anything that may go off. "Oh, no; only a country dance," says Mona, blushing. He turns, as though by an irrepressible impulse, to look keenly at her. His scrutiny endures only for an instant. Then he says, with admirable indifference,—.
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Conrad
"Yes; Gabriel—poor Gabriel and Evangeline," returns she, too wrapped up in recollections of that sad and touching tale to take to heart his meaning:— "No one," says Mona. "I had no need to ask permission for anything. I was free to do what I wished." She turns up one of the lamps, whilst Rodney still continues his contemplation of the wall before him. Conversation languishes, then dies. Mona, raising her hand to her lips, suppresses valiantly a yawn. "No hope!" says Mona, with terrible despair in her voice: "then I have killed him. It was I returned him that pistol this evening. It is my fault,—mine. It is I have caused his death.".
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